


I Could Not Stop For Death

by winter156



Category: The Devil Wears Prada (2006)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-22
Updated: 2017-09-22
Packaged: 2019-01-04 00:08:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12157602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winter156/pseuds/winter156
Summary: This is the way the world ends: not with a bang but a whimper.





	I Could Not Stop For Death

**Author's Note:**

> Not a new story. Pretty old, in fact, since I've been away from fandom for a long while. I'm just moving stuff over from other sites. I have edited these, nothing content wise, but a few grammatical errors and flow errors that were too glaring to leave in place.

_This is the way the world ends_  
_This is the way the world ends_  
_This is the way the world ends_  
_Not with a bang but a whimper._  
  
_-The Hollow Men by T.S. Eliot_

* * *

 

 ** _1 hour after outbreak_**  
  
Andy doesn’t register Emily’s loud and impatient approach.

“What took you so long?” Emily does nothing to hide the disapproval in her voice. She snatches away the tray of coffee and inspects it critically. Satisfied that nothing is wrong with it, she turns to take it to Miranda but stops at the faraway look on Andy’s face. “What _is_ wrong with you?” She huffs, snapping her fingers in front of Andy’s face to pull her out of whatever funk she’s in.  
  
“I had to go back to Starbucks and get another coffee,” Andy says absently, her brow furrowed in confusion. She automatically follows when Emily starts to walk back to their desks.  
  
“And here I thought you were past the stage of dropping things.” Emily shakes her head.  
  
“I didn’t drop it,” Andy’s pace slows and stops, her voice bewildered. “Some crazy guy ran into me and knocked me over and then tried to attack me, I think.” She half turns to look back at where she came from. “Security grabbed him before he could do anything.” Neither assistant notices Miranda approach to hear their conversation. “He must’ve been high on something because he was pale, growling and moaning,” Andy unconsciously pantomimes, “and he was strong. It took two guys to wrestle him into handcuffs.” She rubs her arms remembering the feel of the vice like grip. “And, he took a bite out of one of the security guards.” Andy shakes her head trying to figure out what isn’t adding up about what she witnessed.  
  
“That is disgusting.” Emily is aghast.  
  
Andy hums in agreement. “The cops said people have been going crazy like that all over the city.” She stops and looks back over her shoulder. “It’s weird…that guy left me with a bad feeling.”  
  
“I’m sure the police will sort it all out.” Emily waves offhandedly before telling Andy to get back to work.  
  
Miranda takes her coffee without comment about its tardiness and moves silently back to her office to retake her seat. She turns her chair to the take in the view of the skyline. Apprehension grips her; something bad is happening in her city.

* * *

 

 ** _1 day after outbreak_**  
  
The call connects with an imperceptible hum. The tension coiled through Miranda’s frame eases slightly.  
  
“Miranda,” a yawn interrupts the last syllable. It’s the middle of the night.  
  
“I need you to prepare the Hamptons house,” Miranda spouts off not waiting for further confirmation of wakefulness. “I want it fully stocked for several months, for at least four dozen people.” She ignores the audible sigh on the other end of the line. “The boat needs to be available with crew ready. The hunting instructor also needs to be on hand. Make sure he understands that he needs to bring every type of weapon he can think of for each of my guests. He has a makeshift travel armory. Tell him to bring it with him. And, ammunition. A lot of it.” Miranda paces trying to dispel the hard edge of fear gnawing at her gut. “The house staff need to prepare every room and set up the extra cots in the basement. They must also do a grounds check to make sure the fences are secure. Alert the security team to be present and deployed around the perimeter.”  
  
Andy begins to form the sounds of a question but Miranda speaks right over her, “The senior staff of _Runway_ need to be informed to be ready to move by morning, along with anyone they deem important to them. No more than two suitcases each. Essentials only. Include Serena in that number. Have Emily help you with the preparations. I expect everyone at the townhouse as soon as possible and ready to leave.”  
  
Miranda can hear the rapid strokes of pen to paper.  
  
“Andrea,” Miranda’s voice is urgent, the scratching of notes stops, “don’t wait until morning to get this done.”  
  
“Miranda,” Andy’s voice is laced with questions Miranda doesn’t let her ask.  
  
“Be here. Quickly.” Miranda ends the call abruptly. She moves with purpose to prepare herself and her daughters for departure.  
  
Above the constant emergency broadcast she has tuned in on her television, she can hear the distinct pop of far off bullets.  
  
In the distance, like a macabre lullaby, sirens run nonstop throughout the night.

* * *

 

 ** _1 week after outbreak_**  
  
_“Some fear this is a major terrorist attack.”_  
  
_“The death count is astronomical. Thousands, if not tens of thousands, are dead.”_

_“Conspiracy theorists are claiming the dead are getting up, walking around, and eating people.”_

_“The mayor declared the city in a state of emergency four days after the initial reports of unmitigated violence.”_  
  
_“The military swept into the city in force.”_  
  
_“The CDC flew in experts two days after the state of emergency was declared.”_  
  
_“Citywide quarantines were declared in affect five hours ago. No one is permitted to enter or leave the city of New York.”_  
  
_“There have been similar reports of violent outbreaks and quarantines in most of the major cities of the United States.”_

 _“There are reports from all over the city, all over the country, from eyewitnesses stating they have seen the dead rise and feed off the living.”_  
  
_“The CDC urges people to stay inside and away from anyone exhibiting erratic behavior. These violent people seem to be infected with a highly contagious pathogen of unknown origin.”_  
  
_“Violence has escalated as the city is locked down by the military. Similar reports are coming in from every major city in the country.”_  
  
_“There are reports of cannibalism and outright slaughter.”_

_“Stay inside! Stay away from anyone who is acting differently. Safety is of paramount importance. Even if you don’t believe they’re dead, they’re still highly dangerous. Find a weapon to defend yourself. Stay safe!”_

_“Following several devastatingly tragic airline crashes due to violent passengers and suspicious circumstances, international and domestic flights have been grounded until further notice.”_  
  
_“The President has declared the country in a state of emergency.”_  
  
_“The World Health Organization has declared a global pandemic.”_  
  
_“The dead aren’t staying dead! Millions upon millions are walking the earth hungry for flesh. If you can hear this, if you’re still alive somewhere, run and hide. Run and hide!”_  
  
_“God help us…”_  
  
Every day the news coming in worsens before each news station goes dark and stops transmitting.  
  
Emily flips through every station on satellite to find nothing but static. Silence falls on the assembled group in one of the living rooms of Miranda’s East Hampton home. Shock and disbelief steal everyone’s words.  
  
Nigel looks steadily at Miranda. She stares back warily before the collective worry of the assembled group starts to wear on her. She finally sighs and moves to the center of the room. Her demeanor and absolute confidence calms the aggregated adults. She’s specifically dressed to exude power and authority. Her black power suit and matching heels convey talent and ability. But it’s her calm, unflappable attitude that centers everyone. Her entire self says _trust me, I can lead you_.  
  
“Contact whomever you can,” her voice is steady and sure, “warn them. If they can make it here, they are welcome.” The relief of having a plan, something to do, washes over the group. Murmurs of assent ripple through the room. “We need to consolidate resources and manpower,” Miranda continues steadily once the room quiets. “Everyone will need to pull their weight and do whatever it is they do best.” Blue eyes zero in on her second assistant. “Andrea, you will make a list of the specialties we have present with us and set them up in the appropriate places in the house. I’ll give you more direct instructions once I know what everyone does.” Andy nods and Miranda moves her eyes to her first assistant. “Emily, I need you to draft up schedules for self-defense and weapons training. Coordinate with the head of security and our hunting instructor.” Emily stares wide eyed but nods.  
  
“The rest of you get some sleep. This house is isolated and defensible, we are safe for now. We will convene tomorrow and decide how to proceed.” Miranda feels relief flood the room as she so deftly shoulders the weight of leadership. There are warm nods and pats of support and affirmation as people file out of the room to get some much needed rest.  
  
“Just like the good old days,” Nigel whispers stopping next to her as the others file out.

“There was very little good about those days,” Miranda sighs.

“You don’t think they released it, do you?” Nigel is purposely vague his eyes watching the thinning group.

“It doesn’t matter now if they did or not,” her response is almost flippant. “This is far beyond anyone’s control.”

The truth of it sinks into their bones.

“We’ll make it through. You always seem to find a way.” Nigel grips her shoulder in solidarity before he exits the room.

“What if there is no way to be found?” Miranda absently asks herself, the empty room, everyone, no one.

“Then we’ll make one,” comes the unexpected and surprising response. It’s solid and sure.  
  
Miranda turns and meets a steady gaze. Andy is the last person in the room. They move to the window in unspoken synchronicity. Silence surrounds them but it’s not uncomfortable or awkward. It’s the steady silence of companionability that doesn’t need words to be true. Each woman stares out at the setting sun, their thoughts far from the beauty of it all.

“How did you know so quickly?” Andy asks without taking her eyes off the falling twilight. It’s guileless and curious.

 “It’s a long, complicated story.” Miranda hesitates. “Perhaps you’d like to hear it sometime?” It’s an invitation for something…more. She’s not sure she would’ve extended it so readily a week before. But, the world is a different place now.

“I’d like that,” Andy accepts easily and wholeheartedly. Something loosens in Miranda’s chest at the quick certainty of the acceptance.

Silence envelops them once again.  
  
The Hamptons are quiet but the world just beyond it burns and collapses on itself. Miranda is now responsible for fifty three souls; a number which is sure to increase in the next few days. She knows danger approaches; it is only a matter of time before it reaches them. The weight of responsibility settles more firmly against her.  
  
A warm hand tentatively touches hers. Sharp blue eyes look down then over to soft, brown eyes. Miranda takes the offered hand.

Andy anchors Miranda and quietly shoulders the heavy weight of responsibility with her. Like Miranda’s presence centered the group, Andy’s presence centers Miranda.  
  
The world is dying and the shadow that has fallen over the world will soon be at their door. But, maybe, she doesn’t have to face it alone.

* * *

 

 ** _1 month after outbreak_**  
  
“Oh god,” Andy swallows the bile wanting to push itself out of her throat. The smell is horrible. She bends at the waist, away from the _thing_ , and tries to take deep breaths to slow her erratic heartbeat. Adrenaline is making her shaky.  
  
“I think _he_ has long since removed himself from this situation,” Miranda states calmly, kneeling to pull the knife out of the skull she jammed it in. Beneath the cool exterior, Andy can see the unusual paleness of Miranda’s features, the dark circles under sunken eyes, and the tightness of worry on normally relaxed shoulders. Miranda looks like she hasn’t slept in days.  
  
Despite her exhaustion, Miranda moves with the same efficient grace as ever. Brown eyes absorb how easily Miranda stabs the blade into the ground to clean the congealed blood before deftly holstering the weapon. Andy watches the leader of their ragtag group of survivors stand upright and finally calms down enough to notice how Miranda’s dressed.

She looks like a guerrilla fighter or some secret black ops soldier. She’s wearing black fatigues cinched around the waist with a utility belt that’s holding the holster for the knife she stuck into the _thing_ on the ground. The pants are tucked neatly into sleek, black combat boots. And, a leg holster-- holding a high caliber gun-- is strapped securely to her right leg. There’s no cap to complete the ensemble but the rifle slung haphazardly over her left shoulder is a nice touch, Andy thinks.  
  
Andy stares. She can’t help it. The complete practicality of the outfit, and its utter lack of embellishment, is antithetical to what she normally associates with the older woman.

Brown eyes look Miranda up and down several times trying to figure out how someone who is so well acquainted with weapons, and obviously dangerous, can pull of being so effortlessly attractive. Andy decides it’s a mix of her own adrenaline and the easy confidence and competence Miranda exudes.

Miranda says something that Andy doesn’t hear as she moves closer to her.  
  
Andy can’t help but admire the image before her. Miranda could probably make a burlap sack look good. Her white hair stands starkly in contrast to her outfit, and the blue of her eyes deepens against that contrast. And, she moves comfortably (gracefully, even) with the weight of weapons as if she’s intimately accustomed to their shape and density against her. At the feel of hands gently pressing into her shoulders, Andy jolts out of her stupor.  
  
“Andrea,” Miranda’s tone is oddly gentle, “are you all right?”  
  
Andy nods, unconsciously moving her arms up to grip Miranda (in affirmation of her being real). Andy can feel the inspection of blue eyes over her. The perusal recalls to mind all the times Miranda would evaluate an outfit of hers with an almost intimate gaze. She realizes the inspection being directed her way isn’t the same as before; Miranda’s eyes are creased in worry.  
  
“Are you hurt?” The question is whispered even though they’re now the only beings present. “Are you bitten?”  
  
“No,” Andy is quick to dispel the worry, “he surprised me but the grueling training you’ve put us through has paid off. I think I could’ve dealt with him even if you hadn’t come along.”  
  
“Good,” Miranda’s voice is strained, “Good.”  
  
Her fingers flex against Andy’s shoulders as if she wants to hug her but is physically holding herself back. Andy feels no such compunction and envelops Miranda in a tight embrace. She feels an immediate, and relieved, response as strong arms hug her in return.  
  
They release each other reluctantly. The sun is setting and it wouldn’t be good to be beyond the perimeter of the house after dark.  
  
“He’s dead,” Andy says as they pass the prone corpse.  
  
Miranda arches a brow but doesn’t respond to the obvious statement.  
  
“I meant before you stuck your knife in his head,” Andy proceeds to explain. “I knew logically that he was dead. I’ve been hearing it for weeks. But, it’s different to feel no heartbeat on this _thing_ trying to claw my flesh open.”  
  
“You touched it?” The question is sharp.  
  
“I had to.” Andy doesn’t understand Miranda’s sudden tension.  
  
“Are your hands cut?” The urgency in the question stops Andy short.  
  
“No,” she says slowly, her mind rushes to catch up to the implications of the line of questioning. “How did you know to stick the knife in his skull? And not some softer, fleshier part of him? Like his torso?” She would’ve made an excellent journalist in a different life.  
  
Miranda considers her critically for a few moments. “I’ve blasted a hole through one’s chest before and it didn’t stop it,” she elaborates and resumes walking. “I quickly learned that whatever enables them to keep moving after they’ve died isn’t in their chests but in their heads.”  
  
“When did you do that?” Andy’s natural curiosity is piqued. “That was the first one I’ve seen around here. And, we left New York before the situation escalated.”  
  
“I haven’t always been an editor, Andrea,” Miranda answers vaguely, “This isn’t the first time I’ve encountered these…creatures.”  
  
Andy suddenly realizes Miranda is twice her age and she practically knows nothing about what life she has lived. She feels an immediate and fierce desire to rectify that oversight; and so much more.  
  
Reaching out, Andy grasps Miranda’s hand halting her forward movement. “I could’ve died today.” The statement causes worried blue eyes to turn to her. She pulls Miranda to her, “Thank you for saving me.” Andy’s lips descend before she has time to second-guess herself.  
  
Miranda stiffens but when Andy begins pulls away she buries her hands in long hair and pulls Andy to her, kissing her desperately. They kiss like it’s the end of the world and they may never get another chance. It’s hot, hungry, and with the intent to devour.  
  
“Is this because the world has gone to hell?” Miranda manages to ask between hard kisses.  
  
“Yes,” Andy hisses as pearly white teeth nip her bottom lip.  
  
Miranda lays a gentler, softer kiss on Andy’s lips before shifting so she can look at her properly. Tenderly, Miranda traces kiss swollen lips with her thumb. “Was that affirmation?” The vestige of a smirk momentarily transforms sharp features. “Or approval?”  
  
“Both,” Andy smiles like she hasn’t smiled in a month. “You’re very good at that.” She proceeds to have Miranda do a repeat performance.  
  
“All the old excuses are gone,” Andy murmurs into the space between them when their mouths part. She holds Miranda closely, intimately. It’s been too long since she just simply held someone. It feels good to give into the impulse. “Society has disintegrated. There are no paparazzi to hound you about being with someone half your age. No empire for you to protect from scandal. No job for me to be scrupulously moral about. And your daughters are more interested in staying alive than who you share body heat with.” Miranda listens quietly. “My parents can’t disapprove,” Andy’s voice catches on the statement and Miranda tightens their embrace. “Money is worthless. And, you have no fame except that you’re an excellent leader. So, I figure, what the hell?” Slender shoulders shrug. “I may finally have a shot with you.”  
  
Miranda cocks her head slightly to the side and eyes Andy with great interest. “And I’m sure the fact that flesh-eating, undead monsters roaming the earth, and the fact we can die at any moment, was a great courage booster.”  
  
“Zombies, Miranda. The word is zombies.” She gives a crooked smile before her face straightens and hardens with seriousness. “But, yes, our imminent mortality is a damn effective shot in the arm.”  
  
“Indeed,” Miranda agrees. Night is falling but strong arms pull Andy down to her once more.  
  
Death is at every corner. But, whatever is happening between them is worth doing more than scrounging for survival. It’s worth living for.

* * *

 

 ** _1 year after outbreak_**  
  
“This is going to sound a bit weird,” Andy casually raises her gun and puts a bullet between the eyes of a zombie coming up behind Miranda, “but, you look _so_ hot when you’re being all badass.”  
  
Two more silent bullets down two sluggishly approaching figures. Miranda pulls her knife out of a still falling corpse, throws it in the air, catches the back of the blade and flicks her wrist in one fluid motion releasing the blade. It zooms past Andy to lodge itself firmly in a decomposing head behind the young woman.  
  
“Show off,” Andy teases, “but totally hot and very, very sexy.”  
  
The grin Andy sports widens as Miranda saunters over to her and stops with less than an inch of space between them. Miranda’s tongue snakes out to moisten dry lips and Andy’s eyes fixate on a lovely mouth.  
  
“You are in a good mood tonight.” Miranda delicately traces Andy’s prominent collar bones. The quick intake of breath her touch causes makes her want to smile. Miranda leans in, her mouth lightly touching the shell of Andy’s ear, and whispers in a low voice, “Let’s clear the house and I’ll put you in an even better mood.” Warm lips kiss the junction where the brunette’s strong jaw meets her ear. “Breathe, Andrea.”  
  
Andy gulps in a large breath of air. The smell of decomposing bodies doesn’t even register, all she smells is earth and Miranda. The adrenaline rushing through her veins is making everything sharper and more intense. Even the suggestion of the older woman touching her makes her ache with need. The space between them feels hot and electrified, heavy with intent.  
  
The sound of a snapping twig echoes loudly in the clearing and instantly pulls their attention. Unconsciously, instinctively, Andy raises her gun in the direction of the noise, her finger readying to pull the trigger. When Andy’s eyes land on her target, she hesitates.  
  
Noting the hesitation and the sudden tension pulling Andy’s frame taut, Miranda narrows her eyes at the ambling figure. She doesn’t show an outward reaction except that her eyes widen in shock. And suddenly, without any perceptible change in temperature, all the heat is sucked out of the space surrounding the women.  
  
The creature stumbles and falls. Struggling with stiff limbs that are half decomposed, it rises and rights itself. It begins moving again with single-minded intent. It can smell the sweat and hot blood of living humans. The sound of frantic heartbeats resounds deeply inside its skull. Hunger claws at it; inescapable, all-consuming hunger. Its jaw hinges open and a guttural groan emanates from its decaying throat.  
  
Andy’s hand trembles.  
  
Miranda’s jaw tenses and she swallows through the sudden lump in her throat. She can tell Andy is crying even without looking over to see the tears rolling down her cheeks; the way she’s breathing is telling enough.  
  
Two sets of eyes watch the zombie’s jagged movements become more pronounced in its approach. It’s as if the creature is anticipating sinking its rotting teeth into tender flesh.  
  
Andy takes a deep breath and steadies her hand. A warm hand sliding down her forearm halts her finger from pulling the trigger. Andy’s eyes slide off their target to gaze questioningly into Miranda’s shuttered eyes.  
  
“I’ll do it.” Miranda isn’t crying and her voice doesn’t crack. Andy hesitates once more. But, ultimately, hands over the weapon.  
  
The gun feels heavy in Miranda’s hand. She breathes deeply and walks a few paces away from Andy.  
  
The creature’s moans increase in excited expectancy of a meal that’s approaching it.  
  
Miranda raises the gun. “Goodbye, old friend.” The suppressor on the weapon ensures the bullet leaves the barrel silently making the crumpling of the creature seem like a marionette whose strings are cut by the puppeteer.  
  
“Oh, Nige,” Andy chokes out.  
  
“Wait here,” Miranda’s voice is emotionless as she drops the gun.  
  
Andy picks up and holsters the weapon before kneeling next to a man she loved so very much. His glasses are still, miraculously, on his face, crooked and cracked but still there. She removes them gently, folds them, and puts them in his coat pocket. There’s no room for sentimentality in the world as it is now, but Andy looks at him and her heart aches. “Thank you,” she whispers fresh tears rolling down her cheeks, “thank you for saving her. For saving all of us.”  
  
At the sound of footsteps, Andy rises. Miranda hands her a shovel. No words are spoken as they dig the grave. No words are spoken as they move the body. No words are spoken as they finally bury Nigel Kipling.  
  
Miranda doesn’t cry.  
  
The sun is setting and night is falling.  
  
They clear the house quickly and quietly.  
  
They barricade doors and windows before moving to the upper floor and barricading the door to the room they occupy for the night. Flipping a light switch and being pleasantly surprised they have electricity, each woman moves efficiently through the room checking what they can and can’t use. Andy moves to the bed and finds the mattress and sheets clean after removing the dusty comforter. Miranda moves to the adjoining bathroom, returning a few minutes later.  
  
“I checked the water pressure,” Miranda’s voice is quieter than usual when she finally speaks, “the shower should work.”  
  
“Miranda,” Andy’s voice is rough from crying and several hours of disuse.  
  
Miranda shakes her head; she’s not ready to talk about Nigel. “Andrea,” her voice is soul weary, “go shower.”  
  
Andy acquiesces easily knowing Miranda needs a few moments alone. When she’s done, Miranda silently goes into the bathroom. Andy sighs as she hears the click of a lock on the closed door. She hangs her washed clothes to dry on the furniture and slips naked into the bed. Her eyes close in exhaustion as she waits.  
  
Andy wakes at the feel of hot breath on her neck and a naked body molded to her back. “Hey,” she whispers curling her hand around the one around her waist. Andy tries to control her breathing and temper her reaction to Miranda’s _very_ naked proximity. But, it’s hard. It’s been so long since they’ve had enough privacy to be completely naked together. Most of the time they have to steal moments and be quick and quiet when surrounded by so many people. She’s torn about wasting this small window of absolute privacy but she knows she needs to let Miranda mourn her best friend.  
  
“Nigel was my oldest and dearest friend,” Miranda says against shoulder blade. Her fingers trace abstract patterns on the brunette’s stomach as she speaks. Andy shivers then grits her teeth and consciously tries to staunch her mounting desire by expelling a long, slow breath. But at the feel of teeth nipping at her neck followed by a hot tongue soothing away the sting, she loses the last vestiges of her control. A low moan escapes her throat as aching need settles low in her abdomen and wetness coats her thighs. “But he’s dead,” the soft voice sounds pained, “and we’re alive.”  
  
Miranda’s fingers don’t err as they slide into Andy. Soft, and not so soft, moans keep escaping her mouth. Andy bites her bottom lip to keep from being too loud; she’s already embarrassingly close to release. “We’re alive, Andrea. And, that’s all that matters,” Miranda bites down on Andy’s shoulder and presses her finger deeply into her. Andy groans and convulses against Miranda.  
  
Her limbs feel heavy and her breathing is still short and shallow, but Andy has to touch Miranda. She turns. And, Miranda is crying. Big, quiet tears roll down her cheeks and Andy’s heart trembles in her chest at the sight. She wraps Miranda in her arms and rocks her and lets her cry. Miranda is strong enough to carry them all without complaint. But, Andy is strong enough to carry Miranda.

In that moment, holding a grieving Miranda, Andy knows that they left the safety of their little island full of other survivors to come and bury Nigel. They came because Miranda couldn’t leave her best friend a walking corpse. And, impossibly, Andrea Sachs falls more deeply in love with an incredibly caring Miranda Priestly. Andy knows without a doubt that she would do what Nigel did to keep her safe; she would risk a fate worse than death for her. There’s no room for sentimentality in the world as it is now, but that’s all Andy has ever been and all she will ever be. So, she let’s Miranda cry, and when she’s exhausted her grief she kisses her like she’s the center of her universe.  
  
“I love you, Miranda,” Andy whispers her brown eyes shining with the intensity of that love, her hands moving to demonstrate, “and that’s all that matters.”  
  
The sun has set. And night has fallen. And the world is dead. But they are alive and incandescent and impossibly in love. The noose tightens and threatens their existence, but they endure. Their life that much more beautiful because of its evanescence.


End file.
